Echoes of Glory (Blood on the Stars Book 4) Page 13

  Lafarge felt as if she was going to vomit. She knew what he was going to say, somehow she knew. But she had to hear it. She had to. “Tell me,” she said, her voice as cold as death. “Tell me now, Rolf, or I swear to the Eleven Hells I will blow your fucking head to chunks of goo.”

  He turned his head slightly, trying to look toward her. Finally, he said something. It was quiet, slurred, but this time she heard it.

  “Dauntless.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Old Coast Trail

  North of Victorum, Alliance Capital City

  Astara II, Palatia

  Year 61 (310 AC)

  “Get another blanket over her…or a tarp, whatever you can find.” Vennius stared down at the Imperatrix, who was in and out of consciousness lying in the makeshift stretcher his people had fashioned. They’d done all they could to bind her wounds and make her as comfortable as possible, but he knew she was still in pain.

  It had been a pleasantly cool day, but the night had proven to be cold, a touch of winter in the autumn breezes. The discomfort had been made worse by the rain, misty showers at first, but now a steady downpour. His soldiers were wet, cold, miserable. That meant nothing, of course. They weren’t only Palatian soldiers, they were veterans of the Vennius Legion. They would do what was required of them, whatever the discomfort or danger.

  He took a breath and looked behind him, his eyes moving down the ragged line. Maybe a third of the cohort was left. The fighting had been brutal, their losses heavy, and all the worse because his soldiers had to wipe out the enemy forces to the last. Leaving live enemies behind to report back on what had happened—and which way his people had gone—would have cost what little advantage in time he had.

  He tried to estimate how far his force had come, but he realized years behind his desk had dulled his instincts somewhat. Ten kilometers? Less? The path had widened a bit, north of the city, but it was still rugged, and his exhausted soldiers had to carry the Imperatrix—not to mention the fact that a good percentage of them were walking wounded, stumbling along the best they could with wounds bound up the best they could manage.

  He knew he had to get off the path soon. Calavius wasn’t a fool. He would figure out how Vennius’s forces had eluded him, and it wouldn’t take long after that to realize which way they had gone. Vennius was well aware he had perhaps one-hundred fifty tired foot soldiers, while Calavius had aircraft and vehicles and likely thousands of troops available. His people were sitting ducks if they stayed, but if they went inland too soon they’d just get hung up in the mountains to the immediate north of Victorum. There were routes through the rocky terrain, but they were farther north. Another two kilometers, maybe three, and he could get his people off the cliffs and into the forests. That would gain some time, given them ground where they could hide for a while. Calavius and his people would have to secure control of the military establishments all across Palatia…not to mention the fleet in orbit. As important as it was for his treacherous friend to find the Imperatrix, he could not afford to ignore everything else. That might be just enough distraction for Vennius to escape, to think of something.

  His stomach ached from hunger, and his throat and lips were parched. Discomfort aside, his people could do without food for a while, but he was going to need to find some fresh water soon. Lentius had been smart enough to disobey his orders and deploy the cohort in the city, but even he hadn’t envisioned a march across the countryside. None of the troops had provisions or water bottles.

  He trudged forward, ignoring the fatigue and the pain in his old body. There was no time for any of that, and Tarkus Vennius was determined to do whatever he had to do. He might die—all his soldiers might die—but he would not give up. Not while he had a breath left in his lungs.

  He was working on a plan, one that extended beyond getting the hell out of the city and hiding. He hadn’t gotten very far…in truth, he didn’t have much to work with. But he did have a comm unit strong enough to reach orbit.

  Calavius had jammed communications all around the city, but Vennius was betting his old friend hadn’t had time to arrange for more than local interference, the city limits and not much beyond. If Vennius could get his group far enough north, they just might get into the clear.

  Who to contact was another question entirely. His first thought was to send out a general distress call, but that was too risky. Calavius was no fool. He outsmarted you, maneuvered you into giving him total control of the city’s defenses. He would have co-conspirators in crucial positions throughout Palatia’s orbital installations and the fleet. Even if he reached potential allies, his enemies were closer, and they were ready. His command would be wiped out before any help could arrive.

  Bellator…

  Of course. Commander Egilius’s ship.

  The Egilii were a minor Patrician clan, poor but of noble origins, and longtime retainers of the Vennii. And Brutus Egilius was loyal. Of all the officers in the army and the fleet, there was no one Vennius trusted more, either to remain true to the Alliance’s ideals, or to stay loyal to him personally. Albina Egilius had been a close friend of Vennius’s, even an intermittent lover for a time long ago, and when she was killed in battle, he saw to the needs of her son, even more diligently than he would have done for any of the families sworn to fealty. For a passing moment, he had once even wondered if Brutus could be his son, but a check of the boy’s birthdate and a little math quickly eliminated that possibility.

  Yes, he just might be able to locate Bellator in its orbital rotation, and if he could, he would send a tight beam communique to his young retainer. There were a lot of ships in orbit around Palatia, not to mention satellites, fortresses, and listening posts. He knew even the tightest beam was likely to be picked up, but with any luck at all it would be flagged as routine, and it would take some time to work its way to eyes that saw anything out of the ordinary in it.

  If he could get his people to Bellator it would buy time. He knew he could only evade Calavius’s search so long in these woods, and that was likely a period measured in hours, not days. And the battleship’s sickbay would offer the medical care the Imperatrix desperately needed. He looked back toward the cluster of troopers carrying her. She looked even worse than she had earlier. Vennius was no doctor, but he knew the Imperatrix’s wounds were bad, and that his makeshift first aid had only been of limited benefit. He had to get her better help, and he had to do it soon. Or she would die in that improvised stretcher.

  Bellator was the answer. If they could get clear of the jamming in time.

  * * *

  Centurion Caelina Herminius rushed back through the woods. Path would have been a charitable description for the tiny, overgrown trail she’d been following. Commander Vennius had entrusted her to hold the rear, to position small combat teams in the likeliest places pursuers would pass. Their orders were clear. To hold as long as possible, to buy time for the main column to move farther north. She knew what “as long as possible” meant. Her people positioned away from the approach of the enemy might survive to return, but any of her teams that were engaged by the pursuing forces were expected to fight to the death. Vennius hadn’t given such orders expressly, but then he didn’t have to.

  Herminius had six groups deployed, four troopers in each. That was twenty-five total, including herself, nearly one fifth of the cohort’s remaining strength. Some of them would survive, with luck, though she’d placed herself along the approach she considered most likely. If she was right, her skill and intuition had likely signed her death warrant. Her orders were vague with regard to her personal actions, but given the choice of fleeing while her people fought to the end…and standing at their sides…she knew what she would do. The only thing she could do.

  The way is the way…

  Her head spun around. She’d heard something. It could have been a deer or another animal. In fact, that was probably what it was. But she wasn’t taking any chances.

  She stopped and crouched low, looking a
round through the dense forest. The leaves would be down in a few weeks, but now the visibility was still poor. That was an advantage to the column, and to her small defensive parties, but it was still frustrating to stare off through the woods and not be sure what she was seeing.

  There was nothing now. But she was sure she’d heard something. She almost stood up to head back toward the troopers she’d deployed fifty meters down the path, but something kept her where she was. She knew patience could be crucial, that two enemies could face each other, and the first to move would be dead.

  Then she saw it. Movement in the brush, a shadowy figure. No, three. Moving in her general direction, but off at an angle.

  Scouts.

  She didn’t move. She barely breathed. No doubt her adversaries had thought they’d heard something too, and she wasn’t going to give cause to reignite their suspicions.

  Her rifle was in her hand, and now she started to bring it up, slowly, almost imperceptibly. The troopers were moving up off to her right. In another minute, they’d come close to giving her a flank. She could take down one, she was sure of that. Probably a second one too. But three seemed unlikely, at least before her target could drop down. Then they’d be shooting at each other in deep cover, and that meant they’d be wasting a lot of ammo for nothing. Her four troopers would hear the firing, almost certainly, and they would come. The enemy soldier’s chance of survival was poor, but that wasn’t what concerned her. He didn’t need to live to hurt her people. He just needed to get a message back to whatever force was almost certainly close behind.

  Herminius didn’t have comm, at least none worth using. Her people were at the edge of the area of effect for the jamming. She might get a staticky message through, and she might not, but the chance of managing a clear communication was too small to give away her location. Whatever she started here, she was on her own, at least, at first.

  She thought about pulling back, trying to get a warning to Commander Vennius. But she wasn’t out here to scout out enemy forces. Vennius already knew they were being pursued. She was here to delay the enemy, and taking down their scouts, forcing whatever forces were approaching to slow down and shake out into combat formation, seemed the best way to do that.

  Crack.

  She was a veteran, and not one to delay when she’d come to a decision. Her shot had been perfect, dead on target, and one of the enemy troopers dropped to the ground.

  She could see the others reacting even as she adjusted, bringing her rifle around, aiming for the second enemy. The soldier was moving quickly, but it was clear he was unsure what direction the attack had come from. That was enough to seal his fate.

  Crack.

  Two down. Her eyes scanned the forest, searching for the other soldier, for any signs that gave him away, but there was nothing. Her gut tightened, and suddenly she realized, she was no longer the only one hunting.

  Crack.

  The shot rang out from out in the forest, somewhere. It came close, too close. She dived down, taking cover behind a fallen tree. She knew about where her enemy was—he couldn’t be far from where he’d been when she opened fire—but whoever was out there, he was a solid veteran.

  Another shot blasted into the large tree trunk in front of her, showering her with splinters.

  Whoever he is, he knows just where I am…

  She looked cautiously over the tree, her eyes scanning the dense woods. She’d gotten an idea from that last shot, and she was sure she had the general spot. But close wasn’t good enough. They were both in cover, and she knew this duel could be a long one. But time was on her enemy’s side. She didn’t have a doubt in her mind the soldier out there had sent an alarm, that the enemy’s comm could cut through their jamming. That meant more enemy forces were on the way, that they would probably be there in a matter of minutes.

  Her job was to delay the main enemy force, not fence with one trooper in the forest. She had her adversary pinned down, but he had her suppressed as well.

  She heard sounds off to the side. Her closest group, moving toward the sounds of combat. Her people were veterans. They would move cautiously…but they were heading right toward the enemy soldier. She had a sickening feeling in her gut as she realized at least one of her troopers was going to die. She had no comm, no way to warn them. All she could do was make sure it wasn’t for naught.

  She gripped her rifle tightly, staring out at her enemy’s location, waiting. Then it happened. She saw the movement, and even as she was reacting, she heard the shot. She felt a surge of rage—she didn’t know for sure the enemy had hit one of her people, but the trooper out there was good, and she knew it was unlikely he’d missed.

  Her finger tightened, and her own rifle cracked loudly. She’d caught a hint of movement. It wasn’t much…but it was enough. She watched the leaves rustling as her target fell to the ground. She was up in an instant, rushing as quickly as she could through the dense undergrowth, rifle out in front of her. She was pretty sure she’d managed a killing shot, but training and experience had taught her never to take something like that for granted. That was how soldiers got killed.

  She leapt up, over the cluster of rocks her opponent had been using as cover, and as she did, she fired three times, riddling her enemy’s body. But her frantic charge had not been necessary. Her first shot had taken off the top of the soldier’s head.

  “Centurion…are you okay?”

  She spun around, signaling to her troopers to stop. There were only three of them. Her instincts had been correct, but none of that mattered now. There was no time to think about the dead. Her people had a mission, and that was to delay whatever was coming this way.

  “Spread out, and grab some decent cover. We’ve got enemies coming this way, probably a lot of enemies. And our orders are clear.” Her voice was grim. “Hold them as long as possible. Buy time for Commander Vennius to get the Imperatrix out of here.”

  * * *

  Brutus Egilius listened to the words on the headset, trying to understand what was going on. The voice was a match, but he had to be sure it was really Tarkus Vennius speaking to him.

  He was the only one hearing the transmission, but his tone and his responses had been enough to silence the bridge. He could feel the edginess of the crew as they listened to him speaking to someone who claimed to be the Commander-Maximus, the highest-ranking officer in the Alliance fleet.

  “You say you have the Imperatrix with you?” His tone was cautious. He had nothing but respect for Vennius, but he was far from certain he was actually speaking with his mentor. He’d been getting communiques for hours now, strange warnings from up the chain of command. There was some kind of security breach on the surface…and that made him all the more suspicious. Was this some attempt to trick him? Or was the situation on the surface serious enough that the Commander-Maximus—and the Imperatrix—were in trouble? It seemed far-fetched to him.

  “Yes, the Imperatrix is with me,” the voice replied. “Brutus, there is no time to waste. I will transmit our coordinates to you. I need you to send down a flight of shuttles and bring us up to Bellator. Immediately.”

  Egilius felt his head shaking back and forth, a subconscious expression of his doubt. “I’m sorry, sir, but I need to confirm your identity before I can obey an order like that.” Regardless of how unlikely the whole story seemed, he was torn. It seemed probable this was some kind of trick, particularly in light of whatever was going in Victorum. But the thought of refusing Tarkus Vennius, the real Vennius…not only would it be gross insubordination to disregard the orders of the fleet commander, it would be a shameful failure to acknowledge his family’s—his own—debts to the Vennius patriarch, a man to whom he’d sworn personal loyalty unto death.

  “I don’t have my AI, Brutus, or my secure comm. I can’t access my…” There was a short silence. Then: “Sliver Lake.”

  Egilius froze in place.

  “It was her favorite place, Brutus. Your mother went up there every chance she got. She espe
cially liked the upper neck, near the Three Waterfalls. I had promised her a stretch of land up there, to build a house…when she retired.” There was a sadness in Vennius’s voice, one Bellator’s captain understood perfectly. Albina Egilius had never retired, nor would she ever. Instead, she had died in the mud and blood outside the capital city of Tarkath, shot down leading one section of the final assault.

  Egilius felt a rush of emotion, of old memories. He had been young when his mother was killed, two years from the age of the Ordeal. But he remembered Sliver Lake clearly. She had taken him there every time she’d come home on leave. He’d never seen her so happy as she was when they’d hiked the lake’s pristine shores and swum its cold, deep waters. But he’d never spoken of it to anyone, and that could mean only one thing…

  “Commander, it really is you. What is happening, sir?”

  “Yes, Brutus, it is me, but there is no time to explain. I need you to listen carefully. Send down a flight of shuttles, at least three, as quickly as possible. I’m sending coordinates now. And don’t tell anyone else, not fleet command, not orbital control…no one. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.” He was still confused, but he was convinced he was speaking to the Commander-Maximus, and he was ready to do anything Vennius commanded. He turned and gestured toward his first officer. “Now, Optiomagis. I want four shuttles launched at once to the surface coordinates coming in now.” An extra ship couldn’t hurt. “And send a decurius of stormtroopers in each. Fully armed and armored.”

  “Yes, Commander.”

  “Shuttles are preparing to launch now, sir.”

  “Very good, Brutus. And remember, not a word of this to anyone. Trust no one you’re not absolutely sure about.”

  Egilius spun around again, back toward his exec. “External comm off, Optiomagis. Now!” Then, back into the comm unit. “Understood, sir.” He paused for an instant. Then he added, “Is there anything else I can do, Commander?”